


Tumblr Drabbles

by Kitty_KatAllie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Tumblr drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_KatAllie/pseuds/Kitty_KatAllie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just an eclectic collection of SPN tumblr drabbles. Some fluffy, some angsty, so far, none smutty. I'm not doing my job right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enamor Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for guiliaine. Inspired by the Askbox meme that was floating around. Written during the hiatus before 8x20 (Pac-Man Fever)

Dean was grinning, and kinda nervous, but grinning anyway as he sauntered into the batcave. He slapped his hands together and rubbed his palms just for a few seconds as he turned around to watch Castiel step into the bunker and quietly close the door. The angel’s blue eyes quickly scanned the lower floor, surprise and pleasure lighting up his face as he noticed the books and the homey look. Dean’s grin was painful it was so big.

“Whaddya think, Cas? Awesome, right? Come on, you know you wanna check it out,” Dean urged, gesturing with his hands and leading Cas further in.

“It is… awesome,” Cas agreed slowly. He made a beeline for the bookshelves once they made it down, fingertips grazing over book spines. “Awesome,” he repeated softly. A book in what looked like Aramaic was already open in his hand. Dean rolled his eyes and huffed.

“Really? You’re worse than Sam.”

“How is enjoying literature bad?” Castiel replied absently, eyes poring over the script. Dean snorted.

“Right, anyway. Ya hungry?” Dean asked instead. Castiel looked up, frowning slightly in confusion.

“I do not require sustenance, Dean.”

Dean shrugged. “So? Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a good burger. You have before. And you’ve never had one of my burgers, Cas. Even Sam couldn’t put it down.”

At that, Castiel closed the book, though he left his index finger to mark his place.

“You’re… you’re going to cook it?” Castiel asked slowly, sounding somewhat amazed.

“Yeah. ‘Course I am. I’m pretty damn good at it. You know, I can’t do a lot, but I’m good at what I can do,” Dean trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck. Abruptly, he pulled himself together and raised an eyebrow at Castiel. “What, don’t trust me?”

Castiel blinked, then slowly, little by little, smiled. Dean felt his own lips curve in response.

“I trust you, Dean. I would love to eat a burger you’ve made,” Castiel finally said, softly and fondly, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. Dean cleared his throat and began walking towards the kitchen.

“Good. Man, I’ve been waiting forever for you to get your ass here. I mean, it’s home. There’s a whole bunch of room and cool stuff to check out and you and Sammy can geek out over books and you should totally see my room. I’ve got my own room, Cas. Awesome, right?”

“We could go there first.”

Dean froze.

“I would like to see your home, Dean. You don’t have to woo me with things and burgers. I’m already happy to be here,” Castiel voice was warm and it made Dean’s face feel hot. He was definitely not blushing.

“Who said anything about wooing?” Dean mumbled. At Castiel’s silence, he sighed. He turned slowly. “Yeah, okay, I’m happ-” His eyes widened.

Castiel was gone.

Dean woke up with a start, jerking off his bed as he threw covers aside. Castiel wasn’t there, his mind reminded him as he regained his breath. Who the fuck knew, not even the Angels, where Cas went. Dean rubbed at his face, groaning quietly.

At least no one else had to know how much Dean wished that dream would come true. He’d cook a thousand burgers for Cas if only he’d come home and stay.

“It’s not wooing,” Dean muttered.


	2. Mourn Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Kit (goddamnitdean). Also inspired by the askbox meme

Castiel stood before a tiny wooden cross. The ground was still pale and scorched, a perfect circle all around where nothing grew. Trees clustered around the edges of the circle, raised high over Castiel’s head, as if reaching for the sky he could no longer touch.

Forty years.

Forty years since he’d last tasted ozone, felt wind along his body, heard the rustle of wings that no longer hung from his back. He could not regret their loss, but really, not with what he got in return.

Almost thirty years of smiles. Of kisses and hugs. Brief touches of a hand along his wrist, arm, fingers gripping his shoulders or hips. The smell of cheeseburgers on Thursdays, eggs and bacon almost every morning, pie on Mondays ( _the only thing that makes Mondays bearable, Cas_ ). The sound of AC/DC or Led Zeppelin blaring from the garage outside, pages turning beneath his fingers as he translated yet another text, the phone ringing as another police officer asked for Federal Officer Castiel Singer. The sound of breathing under his chest on the nights he couldn’t sleep because the silence of the Host was deafening.

Thirty years of green eyes opening every morning and looking straight into his.

_Hey, Cas. It’s still kinda creepy when you do that._

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel whispered, kneeling before the wooden cross. His fingers brushed smooth wood.

He could almost hear Dean’s reply- his rough, deep voice, hoarse with age and amusement.

_You come here often _, angel feathers_?_

“Every day,” Castiel whispered.

He had to move a lot, still. Couldn’t stay too long in one place. He aged, yes, but not like a human. Slow, but steady. He should look almost 80, but he barely looked forty. In Dean’s last days, he would touch the silver just growing along Castiel’s hair line and smile, the laugh lines around his eyes deep and worn.

 _Looking good, sexy,_ he’d joke with a rogueish wink; still a filthy-minded joker with dark silver hair and hands that shook.

Castiel would move, it’s true, but he could never move far from this little plot of dead ground. There was no body underneath. Just a clay bowl of salty ash. A bowl of ash like a ball and chain to whatever he had that substituted a soul and Grace.

“I miss you,” Castiel whispered softly. He touched his fingertips to his lips and brushed them over the weather-beaten wood. A tiny cross that marked a soul brighter than an Angel’s Grace had lived once. ”It’s barely been ten years, but it feels like yesterday. I keep waking up and expecting to see you there. Sometimes, I think it’ll be the you I first met- broken, filled with nightmares and pain, barely 29 and carrying the world on your shoulders. Sometimes it’s the man just a few years shy of 40, who couldn’t believe we lived, that we found happiness and a home and a purpose. Sometimes it’s the man covered in wrinkles, with hair the color of steel, and still those freckles you pretended you hated, because a man pushing 70 shouldn’t have freckles like a child.

“You never stopped being beautiful, no matter what you thought then. I will be back tomorrow, Dean.”

He got up and walked away, hands shoved into pockets of the trenchcoat long stained and patched and frayed. And loved.

He never said good bye.

He never would.


	3. Tattoos and Assumptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the post by mishaconfetti on tumblr: WHAT IF CAS NEEDS TO GET AN ANTI POSSESSION TATTOO WHEN HE FALLS AND WHAT IF HE NEEDS TO HOLD DEAN’S HAND BECAUSE IT HURTS TOO MUCH AND WHAT IF DEAN JUST WHISPERS SOOTHING WORDS AND RUNS HIS FINGERS THROUGH CAS’ HAIR THEN THE TATTOO ARTIST ASKS HOW LONG HAVE THEY’VE BEEN TOGETHER DEAN FLUSHES RED AND CAS MISINTERPRETS IT AS HOW LONG THEY HAVE KNOWN EACH OTHER AND CAS ANSWERS 5 YEARS
> 
> Also, I had to change it up to make sense. This takes place in the "alternate" timeline where Dean and Cas end up heading Camp Chitaqua. I don't like fucking with canon too much. It's been edited and changed slightly from the tumblr original drabble.

Cas lowered himself gingerly into the chair, eyes darting around the shop. His Grace was leaking out of him slowly, but surely, a steady decrease of power leaving him feeling more human and weaker every day.

When his wounds started needing stitches because they couldn't heal fast enough a few months ago, Dean had come to a decision. Jimmy was long gone and the only thing inside that body was Cas. Who knew if he could get possessed? Sam was already gone, somewhere up north helping to keep a camp much like Chitaqua under control, Dean had pointed out. There was no way Dean was gonna lose Cas, too, especially not to something stupid like demon possession— something that could be _prevented_.

So Cas agreed, though the idea of marking his vessel- no, his _body_ , permanently made him feel awkward. He understood the practicality, but… the body was _Jimmy’s_. He’d been drinking and taking a bit too many pills than he probably should, trying to race back to the feeling of power and _absoluteness_ being an angel had felt like. But this? A tattoo? More and more over the years, Cas was having to get used to the idea that this was indeed his body and always will be. Always meaning until someone did the kind thing and put a bullet between his eyes, that is.

“Hey, Cas, you there?” Dean asked roughly, knocking Cas’ shoulder. The ex-angel glanced up, startled and wide-eyed.

“Wha- oh, yeah. Where else would I be?” Cas replied, trying to pull out that breezy smile a few hits on an amp could create . Dean rolled his eyes.

“It won’t take long, you pussy,” Dean grunted, sitting on the chair next to him.

“I’m good at it, too. Be over ‘fore you know it,” said Joey, the tattoo artist Dean had looked around for. It had been damn hard finding a tattoo artist when having an open business, especially one involving needles, while people who may or may not had the Croatoan virus in their blood were running around. Joey said he never used his own needles now. Meaning Dean had to find some himself before Joey would agree to it. It made sense, but fuck it had been annoying.

“I seriously doubt that,” Cas retorted dryly. He was not relishing the idea of tiny needles poking into his skin over and over again for at least twenty minutes. Humans could be masochist nutcases sometimes, even though it came in handy for this. Oh well.

“Just standard black, right? Colorin’s the bitchiest part. Where you want it at?” Joey asked, ignoring Cas’ muttered complaint.

“I wanted it on my ass-” Cas began, grinning and pointedly not looking at Dean, who huffed.

“Which I said was fucking stupid. You’re not gonna be able to sit for a week and you’ll be a bitchy mess the whole time.”

“Learned from the best,” Cas singsang. Dean shoved a this shoulder again. “So, here, right over my hipbone. Make the demons work for it,” Cas joked, leaning back and pulling down the top of his jeans and pointing. Joey nodded, though he looked a little confused. He placed the tracing of the anti-possession seal on the smooth skin and rubbed it into place. He peeled the damp paper away and went for the tattoo gun.

“Demons?” he questioned, dipping the needles into the little cup of black ink.

“Just a joke about the ladies who can’t keep their perverted fingers to themselves,” Cas lied smoothly. He didn’t notice Dean’s eyes on his face, looking weary and sad for a brief, naked moment. Then, that iron mask he’d perfected over the past year was back.

“Right. Well, don’t move,” Joey warned. His gun came to like, clattering and hissing.

The first bite of pain was so shocking Cas didn’t even feel it. He was almost numb as Joey made a painstakingly slow and perfect circle. Then, the pain was there, thin and piercing. He clenched his hands into fists, biting down on his bottom lip and squeezing his eyes shut. He had never been good with pain. Never never.

It burned. Over and over, tiny sharp teeth biting into his skin and he wanted to push away, kick or punch- just escape. _Fuck_. He hissed and curled and uncurled his fists again and again, holding himself in place. The needles were close to his hip bone and another streak of hot pain sliced through him. His hands twitched and nails clawed into the leather seat.

“Hey, Cas, you okay?” Dean low, rough voice broke into his thoughts and Cas looked over at him, eyebrows lifted even he grimaced.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Dean,” he snapped without his usual snark. Dean chuckled and held out his hand, wiggling his fingers.

“Do you need me to hold you hand, you baby?” Dean taunted. He blinked when Cas laced their fingers together and gripped tightly.

“You offered, not me,” Cas retorted tugging Dean’s hand down and holding fast. Fallen or not, Cas still had more strength in him than Dean, at least for now. Dean rolled his eyes was readjusted his seat to be more comfortable. He winced when Cas squeezed again.

“Sorry,” the darker-haired man whispered, though he didn’t pull his hand away. Dean shrugged.

“Now you’re sorry? You already have my hand, too late now, angel,” Dean joked. He still tossed “angel” out, especially when teasing and it made Cas smirk.

“Are you going to sing me lullabies next, fearless leader?” Cas murmured, keeping his eyes shut and his fingers tightly entwined with Dean’s.

“Fuck no. I charge extra for that shit.” Dean frowned when Cas visibly winced. Green eyes glanced down and he noticed Joey was working on the flames now, the current ray right over Cas’ hipbone.

“The skin is so thin here, it’s gonna hurt more. I’ll get it done as quickly as I can, but you told me it _had_ to be perfect,” Joey said, neither looking up nor missing a beat.

“Yeah, I still mean it, too. Cas can handle it, right, buddy?” Dean prodded, looking back up at Cas’ pale face. A single blue eye opened a sliver and Dean barely managed not to laugh at the sheer amount of _pissed off_.

“Fuck you, Dean,” Cas growled.

Dean couldn’t contain it then and laughed until his ribs hurt, careful to lean his body away so as to not jostle the chair. He came back, still chuckling, to wipe sweaty hair from Cas’ forehead.

“Yeah yeah, all talk and no action. We’re gonna get back and you’re gonna lay around and mope and whine. You’re a fucking disaster when you’re hurting,” Dean murmured. Cas glared up at him again, though there wasn’t any heat behind it and his lips were twitching.

“You’re a total enabler, though. You like babying people,” Cas pointed out. Dean scoffed.

“You’re crazy. I don’t baby shit.”

“And that’s why you listen to Chuck moaning and bitching about toilet paper? That’s why you take in kids even though their parents are perfectly capable of doing so, but they just don’t want to anymore? That’s why you make sure all those kids got a tree for Christmas and presents you almost died for? Not to mention you’ll probably be in my cabin listening to me whine even though you could just be somewhere else? Nope, I’ve never seen you baby anyone.”

Dean was blushing red at this point, shifting uncomfortably. “Yeah, shut up. You’re ruining my rep.”

“Of course, fearless leader, whatever you say, fearless leader,” Cas chanted cheekily, saluting with his free hand.

“So, how long?” Joey asked suddenly. Both Dean and Cas looked down, though Cas was a bit more awkward about it since he couldn’t really move below his neck.

“How long what?” Cas asked with a bewildered frown and exchanging looks with Dean, who also looked mystified. Joey rolled his eyes and pushed back from the chair to dip the gun into more ink.

“Since you two’ve been together? It’s nice, you know? Most people just worryin’ about dying and who’s bleeding where. Nice to see people just carin’ ‘bout each other for once. Gives a old cynic like me a bit of hope,” Joey answered with a self-deprecating sort of smirk.

Looks of dawning comprehension fell over both men’s faces. Dean, however, looked slightly horrified, but Cas wasn't looking over at him anymore and missed it. Just like he missed the “more than” connotation. He’d gotten much better at sarcasm, but he still managed to take things too literally a lot of the time.

“More than four years-” Cas replied.

“Dude, it’s not-” Dean protested loudly.

They both stumbled to a halt and glanced at each other.

“Did I misunderstand something again?” Cas asked, eyebrows crawling to his hairline. “It’s December 2012 and we met September 2008…”

“You know what? Never mind,” Dean muttered, rubbing his face with his free hand. Not like he could actually protest properly with another dude’s hand wrapped up with his. It gave the tattered up tattoo artist a little hope and who said Dean _didn’t_ care about Cas anyway? The ex-angel was his best friend after all. Who needed lovers when he had that. When he dropped his hand back to his lap, he was smiling a bit. “Four years sounds ‘bout right.”

“It’s just simple math, Dean,” Cas grumbled, wincing as the tattoo gun began again. This time, Dean squeezed his hand first.


	4. Nowhere I'd Rather Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this post: http://spainkitty.tumblr.com/post/49344374610/merlinisahuntingdetective-ticklememisha 
> 
> Check out that perfect art! ;3;

Blood was pouring from his mouth even as light streamed from the large, dark wound on his abdomen. Everything hurt. Pain beyond anything he’d ever percieved. Before, death had been quick. A flash of blinding angelic light. A snap of fingers. The steady throb of claws tearing inside his vessel and Grace, easily ignored thanks to the power rippling among the talons.

But now death was creeping into his body and his Grace was pouring out like water from a sprout.

It was worth it. _They_ were worth it. His family. His friends. The Winchesters.

_Dean._

“Cas!”

His mouth twisted up, amused amidst the pain as the man’s voice seemed to answer his silent thought.

Roughly arms wrapped around him, pulling him upright and he groaned and cried out, pressing his hands harder over his stomach. It was burning. Burning until his Grace became ash.

“Cas, Cas, c’mon, you stupid son of bitch, heal up. You can’t die on me after all this. Come on, Cas, look at me,” Dean’s voice was babbling thickly and Castiel felt anxiety fill him. Dean only sounded like that when Sam was in trouble, when Bobby had died- Sam- was Sam okay?

He forced his eyes to open, Grace shimmering brightly behind the irises, so bright he almost couldn’t see the familiar face hovering over his own. A face covered in freckles and blood and sweat. Green eyes over a perfect mouth. He remembered putting that face together, stroking his essence over every inch of flesh, binding the even more glorious, righteous soul into its core.

“Dean- S-Sam-” Castiel stammered, voice rougher and lower than it had ever been. He winced and hissed in pain, fingers clutching at the tattered remains of a bloodied trench coat.

“Sam’s okay. ‘M okay. C’mon, Cas, you’re leaking out light like a fuckin’ disco party. Pull yourself together, damn it,” Dean murmured, pressing a hand over Cas’ where he was trying to keep blood and Grace inside.

“I don’t- I don’t think I can-” Castiel doubled over, choking and coughing as blood splattered thickly over Dean’s chest and dribbled down his chin. “It’s- fine… worth it…”

“Damn it, Cas. I’m tired of watching you die!” Dean snapped. He didn’t seem to notice tears falling down his face, or the burst blood vessels in his eyes, or the shaking in his hands as he pushed down harder on the wound that wouldn’t stop shining. “Don’t do this. Cas, you gotta stay with me this time,” the hunter whispered brokenly.

“No…where… I’d… rather be,” Cas gasped, trying to smile.

It didn’t last. Pain lanced through him and the burning was like quicksilver. Holy oil in his body that burned without stopping. He was going to burn away and Dean was too close. “g-GO! Dean- Go-“

“I’m not leaving you, Cas!”

Blue met and held green.

“Clo- … eyes…” Castiel panted. And then he screamed.

Light flooded out of broken bleeding body that had once housed an Angel. The screaming went on and on- but it was two voices for a moment. Agony blending with agony until only one voice remained. The thin, hoarse scream broke off into a moan as the beautiful blue-white light flashed out of existence.

“DEAN!” Sam was yelling and scrambling towards the small huddled forms on the ground. One body was rocking slightly, shoulders shuddering as sobs racked the man. The other was still and sprawled over cement, dark head resting on Dean’s collarbone.

The outlines of two great wings were burned into pavement, except where Dean’s body had interfered. The clothing he wore, once bloodied, was now in scorched tatters. Livid red burns covered his entire torso. Dean looked up into Sam’s eyes, face white and drained and eyes raw and red.

“He’s gonna come back, right, Sammy? Like he always does. He always comes back. Team Free Will, we always come back,” Dean murmured. A smirk jagged around the edges twisted his mouth. Sam reached out hesitantly, but Dean slumped over and passed out in a heap, arms stills clutching tightly to the empty body on his lap.

He didn’t come back.


	5. Double Dates and Third Wheels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by kiraheartilly: AU where Adam and Gabriel and Samandriel are all still alive. Dean/Cas Sam/Gabriel Samandriel/Adam triple date at a burger joint? With Gabriel teasing Samandriel please? (IDK it was either that or sports related)

Dean wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, trying to look like he really wasn’t nervous and failing miserably. Adam snorted from behind the screen of his iPod and Sam’s mouth was twitching suspiciously.

“Shut the fuck up, both of you,” Dean snapped. Which, of course, made both of Dean’s younger brothers burst into laughter. “Fuck you guys.”

“This is _hilarious_ , Dean. Smooth, suave, once-upon-a-time-high school heart throb and currently-sexier-than-thou firefighter is getting nervous about a blind date? Are you sure you’re twenty-six? Not sixteen?” Sam joked, earning a punch to the shoulder. “Jerk!” he laughed.

“Bitch. I haven’t _dated_ since- fuck, since _Cassie,_ ” Dean muttered as they neared the Weiner Hut. Of all fucking places- he groaned and rubbed his face.

“Gabe said his brother was a real nice guy. Awkward and kinda quiet, but nice. I wouldn’t set you up with an ass, Dean,” Sam pointed out, stopping abruptly and making both Adam and Dean stop, too.

“I still don’t see how _I_ fit in this equation,” Adam muttered.

“Because we can’t just leave you home alone. Your mom would kill us,” Dean snapped. Adam rolled his eyes.

“I’m fifteen, not five. I can handle studying pre-calc for an evening. Mom doesn’t even have to know. The last thing I want is to watch my brothers make asses of themselves. OW!” Adam winced as Dean slapped the back of his head.

“No cussin’, dumbass,” Dean said with a grin. Adam’s bitchfaces were getting better. Too much time with Sam, probably.

“You can sit off to the side with your iPod up and you get free burgers and soda out of it. You’ll be fine,” Sam reminded him. “Doesn’t your friend work here?”

Adam glared at the ground. “Whatever.”

“R _ii_ ght, let’s go get this over with,” Dean grunted, grabbing Adam’s shoulder and steering him towards the door.

Inside, Wiener Hut was mostly empty. Apparently Gabriel, Sam’s on-and-off again boyfriend of the past year, suggested Weiner Hut because it was “cheap and casual and had great root beer floats.” Dean was sure Gabe only suggested it because the most ridiculous blind date Dean had ever heard of and the guy sitting next to Gabe looked stupidly out of place.

And hot.

Dean blinked, lips curving up in a smirk. He didn’t often go out with guys. He preferred chicks for all sorts of reasons, not the least of which being boobs. Who didn’t like boobs? But, well, he was glad he made an exception when Sam had begged him to go on a double date. Gabe and Sam had been “off” again for the past couple months, something about Sam finding some dirty video Gabe had done back in his own college years. (Dean was still uncomfortable with the fact that Sam was dating a guy older than _him_ , but he let it slide because the hilarity of seeing them standing next to each other made up for it. Really. It was like a moose and a terrier dating.) Sam was hoping that a double date with Gabe’s brother would make it a little less uncomfortable. He was expecting another short, dorky, little guy. Gabe’s brother was _not_ that guy. Okay, kinda nerdy looking, since he was wearing a rumpled suit and a stupid looking trench coat, but the guy was almost Dean’s height from the looks of it. In fact, he didn’t look at all like Gabe. Not only taller, but he looked a little broader in the shoulders, too, with stubble darkening his face, hair almost black that was messy and kinda spiky,and blue eyes that were bright and piercing even from across the little restaurant. His mouth was plush and quirked up slightly when he met Dean’s gaze, one hand raising from the paper cup he held to wave awkwardly.

“That’s Castiel,” Sam hissed. “He’s a curator or something. Works in a museum in San Francisco.”

“Not exactly next door, Sammy,” Dean hissed back.

“It’s like 30 minutes and you drive down to Standford from Oakland almost every weekend… looking kinda far in the future, though, aren’t you?” Sam realized suddenly, giving Dean that “Sam Look”. The one that said “you better not brush me off because I know you and you can’t hide it.”

Dean brushed him off anyway. It helped that Gabe and Castiel were already walking over. Dean noticed then that Castiel’s blue tie was on backwards. Dean Winchester didn’t think “cute”. Really. Ever. But that almost did it.

“Hey, boys!” Gabe greeted cheerfully. “How have Dean-o and the squirt been?” Adam rolled his eyes.

“I’m gonna go drown in ketchup and fries, see ya,” Adam muttered. He turned to the register and left them behind. The guy behind the counter, who had looked miserable in his stupid looking outfit, perked up and grinned when Adam approached.

“So, you’re Dean?” Castiel said. Dean’s smile was automatic, as was the hand he held out, but he was soon easily grinning. The guy’s voice was deep and gravelly, the kind made for dirty talk.

Dean had a kink for dirty talk.

“Yup. The one and only,” Dean agreed, wrapping his calloused hand around Castiel’s. Castiel hand was large, fingers slender and warm. His palm wasn’t rough like Dean’s, but not exactly soft either.

“Thank God,” Sam muttered. It took a minute before Dean got it, though Gabe was already laughing.

“Well, let’s order our weiners and chow down!” Gabe exclaimed. Dean snorted. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Castiel’s eyes dart upward in exasperation.

“So, San Francisco? Why’re you slumming it in Oakland?” Dean ventured slowly. Castiel stared at him as if he were stupid.

“Because you’re here,” Castiel replied bluntly. Dean choked on air.

“Excuse me?” That wasn’t a squeak.

“Because you agreed to the blind date. It was only polite to come to you rather than put you out of your way. Thank you, Dean, for agreeing. I know my brother can be… frustrating, and I’m not the most sociable person. At least we’re at your favorite… would this be considered a diner?” Castiel asked suddenly, glancing around them. In front, Gabe and Sam were ordering from the kid named “Alfie”.

“You look more like a Samandriel,” Gabe was saying, making Sam laugh and Adam and Alfie glance at each other in confusion.

“No, this is not a diner. And _no_ , this is _not_ my favorite dive. Who the fuck told you that?” Dean demanded in confusion. Within a moment, he groaned. From Castiel’s expression, he caught on, too.

“I really shouldn’t trust anything my brother says, should I?” Castiel said wryly. Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, good idea.”

“You at least… you do wish to be here, don’t you?” Castiel asked slowly, brows furrowing in concern.

“You know, I really didn’t. I’m terrible at this shit, Cas. But… you know, maybe it’s not so bad now,” Dean replied with a slow, warm smile. He chest did _not_ feel tight when Castiel’s lips lifted in response.

“No. It’s a lot better than expected,” Castiel agreed in a low voice that Dean barely didn’t catch. Neither seemed to notice Dean's slip.

“Damn it, Sam! Check your asshole boyfriend! He’s fucking Al up!” Adam shouted angrily as Alfie stammered and pushed at buttons.

“No, no, I got it. How many floats? Twenty?” Alfie squeaked, face flushing bright red.


	6. Touched By An Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr drabble prompted by wherethecherryblossomsdance (a.k.a. Sakura-senpai). Set within canon, right after "Man's Best Friend With Benefits" (8x15) Self-Beta

They trudged back home from their latest mission, stiff, sore, a little bloody, and a lot sweaty. They high-tailed it out of St. Louis and didn’t stop except for gas. Neither really wanted to talk, because there really wasn’t much to say. Witch got ganked, friend got saved, and hot chick ended up being a dog. Nothing, really.

 

By the time they made it back to Lebanon, they were tired and a little smelly. Dean swung out of the Impala, groaning as he stretched and popped the kink out of his back. He left a lingering fond pat on the Impala’s trunk, following after Sam with his bags into their “batcave.” Dean stepped through the door, lips involuntarily lifting. He still couldn’t believe that they really had a home to go back to. Sooner or later they’d have to leave, but not now. It’s not like they could live forever in a friggin’ bunker; it was supposed to be for emergencies and all that. Dean hated the idea that a monster or even an angel could track them here and put the Men of Letters’ legacy in danger. There was a lot of really important shit that Dean didn’t want to lose because _they_ were the fuck ups. He just sorta wished he knew what to do with it all.

 

“Hey, Dean, toss your bag. I’ll get laundry started,” Sam called from across the room. The washing and drying machine were old, like, first ever made kinda old, and hadn’t worked when they first arrived. Dean had been surprised when _Sam_ had been the one to fix them, mumbling about some maintenance job he’d had while Dean was in Purgatory. At least he’d done _something_ useful while Dean was trying not to die for a friggin’ year- more like a century in happy afterlife times. Dean tossed his bag over, grinning.

 

“Thanks, Samantha.”

 

“Har har. You know you’ll be folding it. We split chor-”

 

“Yeah, I got it,” Dean rolled his eyes and strolled over to the fridge for a beer. He’d never admit it but he liked finishing up the laundry. Besides, whenever Sam tried to fold clothes, he totally failed. Sam had no idea how to do it right.

 

“Dean, toss me the shirt you’re wearing, too. You’ve been wearing it for like, three days. You even sleep in it.”

 

“What? Dude, I change my shirts!” Dean protested, snapping the top off his beer.

 

“No, the one under your shirt, Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated. “I swear, you never took it off. It’s gross. Just throw it over.”

 

“I’ll wash it some other time. I’m good.”

 

“Dean, seriously? It’s not like I haven’t seen you wandering around here in only a bathrobe. Just give me the friggin’ shirt.”

 

“I didn’t realize you wanted me naked so bad. Have you been in contact with Becky again?”

 

“Oh shut up and throw it over. I want to get the laundry out of the way if we get another call from Kevin,” Sam snapped, gesturing with his hand.

 

“No.”

 

Sam stopped and stared at Dean. The older man merely took a swig of his drink and leaned against the table. Sam frowned.

 

“You know, come to think of it, I really haven’t seen you shirtless in a while. I’m not trying to say I miss it, ‘cause I _don’t_ , but what’s going on? It’s just a shirt.”

 

“Drop it. Now.” Dean was almost growling, glaring at the opposite wall as if trying to make it burst into flames.

 

“Actually, you haven’t even been fooling around like you used to. Jeez, Dean, I don’t even think you’ve been with a woman since you came back from Purgatory. Did something happen? Dude, I’m your brother, some freaky ass scar or something-”

 

“Look, Sammy, you need to shut the fuck up and drop it.” Dean pushed away from the table

 

“Dea-” Sam cut off as Dean stomped from the room. He stared at the beer Dean left on the table top, sighing and dragging his hand through his hair. “What was that?”

 

Dean slammed the door behind him, then, threw himself on his bed. His hands came up to rub at his face, cool metal of his ring scraping skin. Wearily, he dropped his hands to the bed and glanced around the room, calming as he took in _his room_. Guns and knives on the wall, a few empty spaces on the wall, a record player and a small stack of vinyls, the picture of his mother, the single lamp on the bare side of the room he never turned off. A heavy weight settled in his chest as he stared at the lamp in the corner. He should probably turn it off. It’s not like it was really even needed, but there was something about that single lamp left shining that made him feel better. As long as it was on, it meant he could home to it. Absently, Dean rubbed his left shoulder and sat up. He cussed under his breath when he noticed what his hand was doing, then shrugged out of his coat, tossing it aside, before tearing his shirt off. Sam was right; the shirt was getting smelly and kinda gross. He’d meant to change out of it, but they’d been running around and he hadn’t even taken a shower, let alone changed his undershirt.

 

The handprint wasn’t noticeable anymore. It wasn’t bright red and it wasn’t quite as pronounced, having settled into his skin. It was almost as if it had been there his whole life. But recently it had been…well, aching. It was getting worse, steadily chafing in his own skin, like a wound being rubbed raw. He’d been careful not to touch it for the past couple days, worried it could tip the ache into outright pain. No one had touched that mark since Lisa, and after the first time she had, he started keeping it covered. The first time it had been touched, it had been Anna. At the time, he liked it because she had been _covering_ it. He hadn’t asked for some dorky looking angel to pull him out of Hell. He hadn’t asked for a daily reminder of everything he owed the angel and Heaven. He hated the idea that for the rest of the life he’d have some dude’s hand burned into his skin, like some trashy tattoo you regret the next day.

 

Then the angel was Castiel and it wasn’t so bad. The dude had died for him how many times?

 

When Sam had been in the Cage and Dean had lived with Lisa, he’d been angry and hurt and grieving. After weeks on the couch, he’d finally followed her up the stairs to her room. And almost rolled off the bed to get away when she’d touched the handprint on his shoulder. It didn’t feel right, covering it up with someone else’s hand. He’d gone to bed wearing a shirt every night since. With Lydia, was that it?, he had gotten lucky. She wasn’t about touching all over the place, just getting it done- which in hindsight made more sense. He’d been too frantic to remember about his shoulder, but luckily, by then, the print was already fading and the dark had kept it covered.

 

Jesus. It was just a handprint. It looked like a friggin’ burn scar. What should it matter who touched it or when. Why was the idea of taking his shirt off and letting people see so _unpleasant_. It wasn’t like he walking around with his junk hanging out. It would be awkward to explain it if anyone asked, but he didn’t even like baring it at home. Sam had already seen it- what was the big deal?

 

Dean groaned again and rubbed his shoulder without thinking. He froze. It… It hadn’t hurt?

 

If anything, he felt _better_ , as if the ache had dulled. He looked down and pressed his fingers over the scar, shifting to cover it completely. He smirked a bit. His hand was bigger than a _multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent_ ’s handprint. Just a little funny. With his lips still quirked up in a half-smile he took advantage of the quiet moment, the same as he’d done every day since Cas had disappeared with blood trailing from his eyes.

 

“Hey Cas, it’s me. We took down the witch. Some creep with a fetish for dogs. Weird, huh? I guess James and Portia were okay. Weird, but cool. I’ll just try not to think about it too much. We’re home again, though. You haven’t seen our batcave yet, but it’s pretty sweet coming home. Yeah, home. Still gets me, too. I didn’t think we’d find something like this after Bobby’s burnt down, but, well, here we are. And there’s a place for you here. I leave the lamp on, cuz… you know, you like to sneak up on me. I won’t wake up and have a heart attack the next time you pop in and loom over me like a stalker. I’m pretty smart, right?” Dean trailed off, brows contracting over his nose. He slumped over, tightening his grip on the handprint. It was weird, praying like this. It was almost as if…he could feel Cas for a second. There had been moments when he’d felt Cas before he’d seen him, and it kinda felt like this. Maybe it was the handprint. Maybe Cas would actually hear him this time.

 

“Damn it, Cas, where are you? Get your feathery ass back so I can kick it. You can’t just disappear like that! You were fucking bleedin’ out the eyes, man! What’s going on? Damn it, Cas, you can’t…after what you said…” Dean took a slight rattling breath and laughed dryly. “Right, like I could stop you if you thought you had to do something. Just… this time… wherever you are, don’t be kicking yourself, okay? That’s my job. You won’t let me help you, man. Haven’t you learned your fuckin’ lesson yet? You fuck shit up if you do it by yourself, so let me help you this time. Come on, Cas. I’m waiting.”

 

A slight pause and Dean peeked through his lashes. His shoulders slumped again and he shook his head, mouth twisting to the side.

 

“Right. Well, we’re waiting for you, Cas. Just… hurry up.”

 

.

 

On a shiny metal table the angel named Castiel jerked awkwardly, blue eyes widening. He coughed weakly, blood spilling from his lips. A voice was in his head-

 

_Protect the Host. Obey the Host. The Angel Tablet is the most import-_

 

He groaned, trying to push it away. He was sick of it. Every day, the same litany. This is what he came back for? This couldn’t be the only thing that mattered. Those words couldn’t be the only thing of importance.

 

_Damn it, Cas, where are you?_

 

He jerked again. The Host’s voice was shrill, but underneath he could hear it. A single voice, rough, low, angry, and sad. A voice he knew well. He chased after it even as searing pain raced through his vessel and Grace.

 

_Haven’t you learned your fuckin’ lesson? You fuck shit up-_

 

_The Angel Tablet must be found and protected. Your objective is to find the Tablet, Castiel._

 

_-so let me help you this time. Come on, Cas._

 

_Obey the Host._

 

_I’m waiting._

 

A hand pressed to his, palm to palm, fingertip to fingertip. A rough hand covered in calluses and scars.

 

He’s waiting.

 

Castiel smiled weakly and pressed back. The voice of the Host, for the moment, was tinny and distant and the pain wasn’t anything worse than he’d endured before. For the first time, Dean was reaching out through their connection. He doubted Dean even knew what he was doing, but it made Castiel smile anyway.

 

.

 

Dean scooted up on his bed, kicking off boots before leaning up against the headboard. He should probably take a shower, make something to eat to pay back Sam for the laundry. Maybe do some research on trials and shit. But Dean didn’t really care. He was tired and when he moved his hand, he felt kinda achy. So fuck it. He dropped his head back, bumping against the wall lightly. But he kept his hand over Cas’. There was a moment when he _swore_ he felt a hand press against his, a gentle touch of Grace that felt so familiar it hurt.

So Dean kept talking. Joking about Sam being a good wife and bad porn innuendos he’d kept himself from saying in St. Louis that he knew Cas wouldn’t get. A song that had come on the radio he hadn’t heard in years. The dinner he’ll probably make sooner or later and the secondhand Vonnegut books he’d found in that thrift store two days ago. _I miss you_ in every word.


End file.
